


Thank You, Monsieur DuPont

by Iron_Angel



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Handcuffs, Post-Canon, Robot/Human Relationships, Stockings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 12:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12211506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iron_Angel/pseuds/Iron_Angel
Summary: After clearing out a band of raiders in Back Street Apparel, Nora's scavenging turns up a remarkably well preserved pre-war prize. [Valentinelovedthat.]Sequel toA Way with Machines.





	Thank You, Monsieur DuPont

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: *insert standard "don't own, no profits made" jargon here* UnBeta'd. All mistakes/typos are mine. I'll correct them as I find them.

Nora stared down at the corpse of the raider she'd just put a pair of bullets into the skull of with a scowl. "I really hate doing this wetwork," she grumbled, holstering her 10mm.

"Grisly business," Valentine agreed, nudging at the body of another with his foot, "but the folks at Oberland Station will be relieved to not have these homicidal maniacs beating down their door anymore."

She sighed, hunching her shoulders. "That's some consolation, at least. But I miss the days when my morality didn't look like swiss cheese for the holes punched in it from all murders I've committed since thawing out."

His hand landed on her arm. "Hey now!" She looked up to see the synth frowning at her. "It's might makes right and survival of the meanest these days. Protecting innocents and self-defense isn't murder. Don't be so hard on yourself."

She shook her head. "It may have been over two hundred years since the world went to hell, Nicky, but it still feels like it's only been a few months for me." She picked up a cracked pair of what at one time would have been considered fashionable sunglasses from a broken case, and pulled them on. "I mean, this is Back Street Apparel, one of the classiest clothing stores in Boston back in my time. There was no way I could've afforded anything in here. But instead of decked out in the new spring collection, it's crumbling and full of raiders." She paused, pulling the glasses back off and tossing them away. "Corpses," she corrected.

"Even bloodied, those hands are still doing good, doll. Don't forget that." He reached up to thump her lightly on the underside of her chin. "Hey, why don't we do a little scrounging? Set aside the old cop instincts for a few minutes to shoplift something that's still nice, if we're lucky."

She giggled. "Why, Detective Valentine, I never would've expected you to condone the commission of such heinous larceny!"

He took his fedora off and set it on the shop counter. "For the next ten minutes, I'm just Nick." He lifted his arm as if checking a nonexistent watch. "Better get to looking. Nine minutes and forty-eight seconds."

She laughed again and turned to begin rummaging through the bins and still intact display cases for anything that looked useable. She was mostly searching for any scrap that could prove useful either back at Home Plate or at one of her many other settlements. Wonderglue and duct tape was always in demand. Clipboards had the tiny springs necessary for various grenades that made dealing with super mutants and mirelurks easier. Tons of wire clothes hangers.

As she moved around the shop's main floor, she came across a small alcove of shelves with several stacks of folded, moldering clothing. She poked at and scrutinized each garment. Most were beyond hope. She did find one faintly discolored but still wearable pale blue dress and -- well, that was a surprise! -- a sealed package of nylon stockings.

"Times up, doll," Valentine called. "Find anything?"

"A veritable treasure trove," she smiled, holding up the nylons for him to see. "They're even my size."

Valentine seemed to have forgotten he wasn't wearing his hat at the moment and thus couldn't hide his eyes like he usually did as he tucked his chin slightly, staring at the pack. Used to his quirks and mannerisms, Nora was surprised at his sudden show of nervousness. It was just a pair of nylons. Unheard of in the Commonwealth now, but surely he'd remember them from before the war.

"That's, uh... that's nice," he coughed. Very weird for a synth to do. "I think it's time we should be going, don't you?"

Nora could only stare at him as he picked up his hat and firmly put it back on as he headed toward the door. _What the hell was that about?_

~

Back at Home Plate, Nora turned this way and that, looking at herself in the cracked mirror in her loft bedroom. It had been so very long since she could dress up like this. Even before the bombs, she'd spent most of her time in casual pants, saving her one nice dress for the rare party or business event. It was highly impractical to wear something so flimsy in the wasteland, the addition of the nylons and only marginally ratty-looking high heels being totally absurd. Just for tonight, though, she wanted to feel like a lady instead of the Minutemen General and resident fix-all even if it was simply to have a drink at the Dugout Inn.

Downstairs, there was a brisk "shave and a haircut" knock on her residential-side door.

She smiled; only Valentine knocked like that. She called out, "Come in!" and tucked one more bobby pin in along her temple to hold down a stubborn fly-away. Smoothing out her bodice, she turned and headed down the stairs. "Hey, Nicky, what brings you h--"

Catching his expression, she paused mid-step halfway down, frowning in confusion. Valentine wasn't looking at her. Or at least, not at her face. Those wide, glowing eyes were fixed on her legs.

"Nick?"

His jaw twitched as if he was trying to swallow; another oddly human tic to see in a synth. She could hear the quiet clicking of his metal fingers as he flexed them. His posture practically screamed tension. Of course there was no blush or perspiration, but she was experienced enough to understand all of the other signs. Combined with his reaction earlier in Back Street Apparel, it dawned on her: he was aroused.

She really ought to be ashamed, but she just couldn't find it in herself to give a damn. Turning to put her weight on the leg on the lower step, she sacrificed the modesty of the other to needlessly adjust her skirt to cover her already well-obscured intimate areas. Plus ten points for coy and minus a few hundred for subtlety, but she definitely had his undivided attention now.

"Are you here for a reason, Detective?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "Or is this a friendly social call?"

His eyes trailed along the bend of her knee for just a moment -- which with synth processing speed was a long time -- before bringing his gaze up to hers. "You look nice, all dolled up," he said with forced casualness. "Special occasion?"

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. He didn't even seem to realize she'd asked him a question. Descending the rest of the way to the ground floor, she did a little twirl to make the skirt flare out. Yeah, the dress itself was doing absolutely nothing for him. He was focused solely on her legs.

"No reason. Just going out for a drink or two at the Dugout and felt like showing off a little."

 _That_ got a reaction. Valentine stiffened, his lips pressing together in a scowl. "And have Vadim leering at you all night? Can't stay that's the best idea you've had."

She chuckled. "Better him than Cooke up in the Colonial Taphouse. At least Vadim knows to keep his hands to himself, if not his eyes." She stepped closer, reaching out to slide a finger along his lapel. "I'm a little lonely tonight. But, you know, I could always stay home and break out the bottle of good bourbon if you'd keep me company." To hell with subtlety. She hooked the finger in the loose loop of his tie and tugged, forcing him to put his hands around her waist to keep from stumbling. "Or skip the bourbon."

Sliding his hands down to her hips, he splayed his fingers out over the tops of her thighs. "Only if you promise to keep those stockings on," he purred, tilting his head slightly as he looked down at her with half-lidded eyes.

She answered his silent invitation with a kiss, noting his clean metallic taste; the sly ol' dog had scrubbed up before coming over. She lifted her free hand to his cheek and traced her fingertips lightly over his torn skin in warning before slipping them down and into the wires below his jaw.

Literally vibrating, he pulled back with a staticky moan. Catching her wandering hand, he brought it up to kiss her palm and warned, "If you can't keep these to yourself tonight, doll, I'm going to handcuff you to the bed."

She smirked. "Not on your life." Gauntlet thrown.

Nora counted it as a minor miracle that they even made it back upstairs, although she could almost say for certain that it was just as much Valentine's old-fashioned principles as it was his limited physical flexibility that made him insist on the bed instead of the sofa. Watching him hang his hat, trench coat, and shoulder holster up on a hook out of the corner of her eye, she could barely keep her hands from shaking with excitement as she carefully unbuttoned her dress and slid it off. Her bra took a little more concentration, so by the time it was off and she had been about to remove her high heels, she hadn't realized he had moved up behind her.

"Leave those on, too," he said in a low rumble. He turned her around and pulled her up for another kiss before nudging her to lay back on the bed.

As he knelt over her, she reached up to undo his tie and pull it off, and worked the first button of his shirt free. "You still have too many clothes on," she complained, moving to the second one.

He kissed her again and grabbed her wrists, bringing her hands above her head to pin them with one hand, making her arch up slightly. The rough fabric of his shirt scraping against her bare breasts as he moved over her was exquisite and she moaned her appreciation into his mouth, earning one in return.

Quicker than she could react, there was a _clink_ and an unmistakable rapid _tik tik tik_ sound.

She jerked back. "Oh, you're _kidding_ me!" she hissed, tugging at the cuffs now securing her to the metal dowels of the headboard.

He chuckled darkly. "I warned you." He ran the tip of his intact index from between her breasts, down her torso, and over her hip to the hem of the stocking. "These look beautiful on you." He slid his hand around to the back of her thigh, tracing all four fingers along seam line down to the back of her knee and up again. "I've been thinking about you wearing them ever since you found them."

The way he was caressing her was doing all kinds of good things to her body. "Haa-ah, I d-didn't know this is what got your motor running, Nicky," she stammered, letting her legs fall open.

"Sweetheart, _you_ get my motor running." He bent to press a kiss to her inner thigh just above the nylon. " _This_ is just icing on the cake." With his metal fingers, he reached down and pulled the crotch of her panties aside. "And now that I have the aforementioned cake, I plan on eating it."

"That's not how--"

She was cut off by him suddenly throwing her leg over his shoulder and dragging his tongue over her slit. She was simultaneously glad and infuriated by the handcuffs keeping her from falling off the bed as she jerked almost completely off the mattress, but also keeping her from being able to touch him as well. It was a close competition between her wrists and the structural integrity of the headboard as Valentine licked broad strokes between her folds, mercilessly teasing her clit in hard circles, then down over her opening.

Panting, she gave up the fight with the cuffs and let her head fall back against the pillow, enjoying the rapidly building tension. God, he was so good at this! Even better, tireless and without needing to breathe, he didn't have to come up for air. And he seemed very much determined to not come up at all.

Bound as she was, she had no way to stifle her embarrassingly loud cry as she came minutes later. He didn't stop, though. Her one leg trapped over his shoulder and the other pinned beneath him, she couldn't escape him as he pushed two fingers into her, slow at first, but quickly gaining speed as him pumped them in and out.

"Nick, please!" she whined.

He released her clit, but didn't slow his hand. "Say the word and I'll stop, sweetheart," he crooned, "but I think you can take at least one more." He leaned up to kiss her; she could taste herself on his lips and couldn't bring herself to be ashamed of how much more it turned her on. "Come on, Nora." He crooked his fingers upwards, hitting her g-spot. "One more."

Well over two centuries of wear, rust, and whatever else nuclear radiation does to it is not kind to steel. As the second, stronger orgasm hit, she involuntarily yanked her arms down, snapping the metal rod from it's groove. Completely unfazed -- working and traveling with her for so long, he already knew she was stronger than she looked -- he continued to stroke her through it as he let her pull him down for another wonderfully desperate kiss.

He finally pulled away when she fell back, limp and exhausted, against the mattress. "Gorgeous," he murmured, pulling a square of cloth from his pants pocket to wipe his wet chin and fingers before using it to clean between her legs.

She smiled; of course Valentine would own a handkerchief.

Satisfied with his efforts, he moved further down to pull her heels off and set them under the bed. It took several minutes longer than necessary for him to carefully remove the stockings, kissing her from hip to ankle as he went. Taking great pains fold them neatly, he stood and went to her dresser to place them reverently in the top drawer, sighing as he closed it again.

She huffed a laugh. "I'm going to take that as a sign I shouldn't wear those in public."

"I refuse to hold myself accountable for what might happen if you do," he grinned. "Up to and including short circuits and processor burn outs." He turned back to her, reaching into his pocket again, this time for the tiny handcuff key. Pulling them off, he took her by the wrists and kissed and massaged each red mark in apology. "I'm sorry. I didn't expect you to struggle quite so hard."

"I am _not_ complaining!"

He crawled back into the bed next to her, pulling her arms around his neck as he kissed her cheek. "Still, next time I won't clamp them on as tight," he said, wrapping his own arms around her waist.

She tucked her head against his shoulder, running her thumb along the cracked seam near his ear. "Anything I can do for you?" she asked softly, gently tapping her nail on the exposed metal hinge of his jaw to clarify her intentions.

He pulled back to met her gaze. "No thanks, doll, you've done more than enough for me tonight. Now how about you rest for a little while, and I'll take you out for some power noodles later."

"Okay." She snuggled close again, closing her eyes. She _was_ tired, she admitted to herself. No harm in taking an hour or so to recharge.

Wait...

She jerked back, staring up at him. "What's this about 'next time'?!"

He laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> History lesson: Nylon was the first commercially successful synthetic thermoplastic polymer developed by the DuPont conglomerate in the 1930s. First used commercially in nylon-bristled toothbrushes in 1938, it became famous for women's stockings or "nylons" in 1940.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
